After the chill of a dewless night the morning sun was apt to look
ardently upon the Robles Rancho, if so strong an expression could
describe the dry, oven-like heat of a Californian coast-range valley.
Before ten o'clock the adobe wall of the patio was warm enough to permit
lingering vacqueros and idle peons to lean against it, and the exposed
annexe was filled with sharp, resinous odors from the oozing sap of
unseasoned “redwood” boards, warped and drying in the hot sunshine. Even
at that early hour the climbing Castilian roses were drooping against
the wooden columns of the new veranda, scarcely older than themselves,
and mingling an already faded spice with the aroma of baking wood and
the more material fragrance of steaming coffee, that seemed dominant
everywhere.
In fact, the pretty breakfast-room, whose three broad windows, always
open to the veranda, gave an al fresco effect to every meal, was a
pathetic endeavor of the Southern-bred Peyton to emulate the soft,
luxurious, and open-air indolence of his native South, in a climate that
was not only not tropical, but even austere in its most fervid moments.
Yet, although cold draughts invaded it from the rear that morning, Judge
Peyton sat alone, between the open doors and windows, awaiting the
slow coming of his wife and the young ladies. He was not in an entirely
comfortable mood that morning. Things were not going on well at Robles.
That truculent vagabond, Pedro, had, the night before, taken himself off
with a curse that had frightened even the vacqueros, who most hated him
as a companion, but who now seemed inclined to regard his absence as an
injury done to their race. Peyton, uneasily conscious that his own anger
had been excited by an exaggerated conception of the accident, was
now, like most obstinate men, inclined to exaggerate the importance of
Pedro's insolence. He was well out of it to get rid of this quarrelsome
hanger-on, whose presumption and ill-humor threatened the discipline of
the rancho, yet he could not entirely forget that he had employed him
on account of his family claims, and from a desire to placate racial
jealousy and settle local differences. For the inferior Mexicans and
Indian half-breeds still regarded their old masters with affection;
were, in fact, more concerned for the integrity of their caste than
the masters were themselves, and the old Spanish families who had made
alliances with Americans, and shared their land with them, had rarely
succeeded in alienating their retainers with their lands. Certain
experiences in the proving of his grant before the Land Commission had
taught Peyton that they were not to be depended upon. And lately
there had been unpleasant rumors of the discovery of some unlooked-for
claimants to a division of the grant itself, which might affect his own
title.
He looked up quickly as voices and light steps on the veranda at last
heralded the approach of his tardy household from the corridor. But, in
spite of his preoccupation, he was startled and even awkwardly impressed
with a change in Susy's appearance. She was wearing, for the first time,
a long skirt, and this sudden maturing of her figure struck him, as a
man, much more forcibly than it would probably have impressed a woman,
more familiar with details. He had not noticed certain indications of
womanhood, as significant, perhaps, in her carriage as her outlines,
which had been lately perfectly apparent to her mother and Mary, but
which were to him now, for the first time, indicated by a few inches of
skirt. She not only looked taller to his masculine eyes, but these few
inches had added to the mystery as well as the drapery of the goddess;
they were not so much the revelation of maturity as the suggestion that
it was HIDDEN. So impressed was he, that a half-serious lecture on her
yesterday's childishness, the outcome of his irritated reflections that
morning, died upon his lips. He felt he was no longer dealing with a
child.
He welcomed them with that smile of bantering approbation, supposed to
keep down inordinate vanity, which for some occult reason one always
reserves for the members of one's own family. He was quite conscious
that Susy was looking very pretty in this new and mature frock, and that
as she stood beside his wife, far from ageing Mrs. Peyton's good looks
and figure, she appeared like an equal companion, and that they mutually
“became” one another. This, and the fact that they were all, including
Mary Rogers, in their freshest, gayest morning dresses, awakened a
half-humorous, half-real apprehension in his mind, that he was now
hopelessly surrounded by a matured sex, and in a weak minority.
“I think I ought to have been prepared,” he began grimly, “for this
addition to--to--the skirts of my family.”
“Why, John,” returned Mrs. Peyton quickly; “do you mean to say
you haven't noticed that the poor child has for weeks been looking
positively indecent?”
“Really, papa, I've been a sight to behold. Haven't I, Mary?” chimed in
Susy.
“Yes, dear. Why, Judge, I've been wondering that Susy stood it so well,
and never complained.”
Peyton glanced around him at this compact feminine embattlement. It was
as he feared. Yet even here he was again at fault.
“And,” said Mrs. Peyton slowly, with the reserved significance of the
feminine postscript in her voice, “if that Mr. Brant is coming here
to-day, it would be just as well for him to see that SHE IS NO LONGER A
CHILD, AS WHEN HE KNEW HER.”
An hour later, good-natured Mary Rogers, in her character of “a
dear,”--which was usually indicated by the undertaking of small errands
for her friend,--was gathering roses from the old garden for Susy's
adornment, when she saw a vision which lingered with her for many a
day. She had stopped to look through the iron grille in the adobe wall,
across the open wind-swept plain. Miniature waves were passing over
the wild oats, with glittering disturbances here and there in the
depressions like the sparkling of green foam; the horizon line was
sharply defined against the hard, steel-blue sky; everywhere the
brand-new morning was shining with almost painted brilliancy; the vigor,
spirit, and even crudeness of youth were over all. The young girl was
dazzled and bewildered. Suddenly, as if blown out of the waving grain,
or an incarnation of the vivid morning, the bright and striking figure
of a youthful horseman flashed before the grille. It was Clarence Brant!
Mary Rogers had always seen him, in the loyalty of friendship, with
Susy's prepossessed eyes, yet she fancied that morning that he had
never looked so handsome before. Even the foppish fripperies of his
riding-dress and silver trappings seemed as much the natural expression
of conquering youth as the invincible morning sunshine. Perhaps it
might have been a reaction against Susy's caprice or some latent
susceptibility of her own; but a momentary antagonism to her friend
stirred even her kindly nature. What right had Susy to trifle with such
an opportunity? Who was SHE to hesitate over this gallant prince?
But Prince Charming's quick eyes had detected her, and the next moment
his beautiful horse was beside the grating, and his ready hand of
greeting extended through the bars.
“I suppose I am early and unexpected, but I slept at Santa Inez last
night, that I might ride over in the cool of the morning. My things are
coming by the stage-coach, later. It seemed such a slow way of coming
one's self.”
Mary Rogers's black eyes intimated that the way he had taken was the
right one, but she gallantly recovered herself and remembered her
position as confidante. And here was the opportunity of delivering
Susy's warning unobserved. She withdrew her hand from Clarence's frank
grasp, and passing it through the grating, patted the sleek, shining
flanks of his horse, with a discreet division of admiration.
“And such a lovely creature, too! And Susy will be so delighted! and
oh, Mr. Brant, please, you're to say nothing of having met her at Santa
Clara. It's just as well not to begin with THAT here, for, you see”
(with a large, maternal manner), “you were both SO young then.”
Clarence drew a quick breath. It was the first check to his vision of
independence and equal footing! Then his invitation was NOT the outcome
of a continuous friendship revived by Susy, as he had hoped; the Peytons
had known nothing of his meeting with her, or perhaps they would not
have invited him. He was here as an impostor,--and all because Susy had
chosen to make a mystery of a harmless encounter, which might have
been explained, and which they might have even countenanced. He thought
bitterly of his old playmate for a brief moment,--as brief as Mary's
antagonism. The young girl noticed the change in his face, but
misinterpreted it.
“Oh, there's no danger of its coming out if you don't say anything,” she
said, quickly. “Ride on to the house, and don't wait for me. You'll find
them in the patio on the veranda.”
Clarence moved on, but not as spiritedly as before. Nevertheless there
was still dash enough about him and the animal he bestrode to stir into
admiration the few lounging vacqueros of a country which was apt to
judge the status of a rider by the quality of his horse. Nor was the
favorable impression confined to them alone. Peyton's gratification rang
out cheerily in his greeting:--
“Bravo, Clarence! You are here in true caballero style. Thanks for the
compliment to the rancho.”
For a moment the young man was transported back again to his boyhood,
and once more felt Peyton's approving hand pushing back the worn straw
hat from his childish forehead. A faint color rose to his cheeks; his
eyes momentarily dropped. The highest art could have done no more! The
slight aggressiveness of his youthful finery and picturesque good looks
was condoned at once; his modesty conquered where self-assertion might
have provoked opposition, and even Mrs. Peyton felt herself impelled
to come forward with an outstretched hand scarcely less frank than her
husband's. Then Clarence lifted his eyes. He saw before him the woman
to whom his childish heart had gone out with the inscrutable longing and
adoration of a motherless, homeless, companionless boy; the woman who
had absorbed the love of his playmate without sharing it with him; who
had showered her protecting and maternal caresses on Susy, a waif like
himself, yet had not only left his heart lonely and desolate, but had
even added to his childish distrust of himself the thought that he
had excited her aversion. He saw her more beautiful than ever in her
restored health, freshness of coloring, and mature roundness of outline.
He was unconsciously touched with a man's admiration for her without
losing his boyish yearnings and half-filial affection; in her new
materialistic womanhood his youthful imagination had lifted her to
a queen and goddess. There was all this appeal in his still boyish
eyes,--eyes that had never yet known shame or fear in the expression of
their emotions; there was all this in the gesture with which he lifted
Mrs. Peyton's fingers to his lips. The little group saw in this act only
a Spanish courtesy in keeping with his accepted role. But a thrill of
surprise, of embarrassment, of intense gratification passed over her.
For he had not even looked at Susy!
Her relenting was graceful. She welcomed him with a winning smile. Then
she motioned pleasantly towards Susy.
“But here is an older friend, Mr. Brant, whom you do not seem to
recognize,--Susy, whom you have not seen since she was a child.”
A quick flush rose to Clarence's cheek. The group smiled at this evident
youthful confession of some boyish admiration. But Clarence knew that
his truthful blood was merely resenting the deceit his lips were sealed
from divulging. He did not dare to glance at Susy; it added to the
general amusement that the young girl was obliged to present herself.
But in this interval she had exchanged glances with Mary Rogers, who had
rejoined the group, and she knew she was safe. She smiled with gracious
condescension at Clarence; observed, with the patronizing superiority
of age and established position, that he had GROWN, but had not greatly
changed, and, it is needless to say, again filled her mother's heart
with joy. Clarence, still intoxicated with Mrs. Peyton's kindliness,
and, perhaps, still embarrassed by remorse, had not time to remark the
girl's studied attitude. He shook hands with her cordially, and then,
in the quick reaction of youth, accepted with humorous gravity the
elaborate introduction to Mary Rogers by Susy, which completed this
little comedy. And if, with a woman's quickness, Mrs. Peyton detected a
certain lingering glance which passed between Mary Rogers and Clarence,
and misinterpreted it, it was only a part of that mystification into
which these youthful actors are apt to throw their mature audiences.
“Confess, Ally,” said Peyton, cheerfully, as the three young people
suddenly found their tongues with aimless vivacity and inconsequent
laughter, and started with unintelligible spirits for an exploration of
the garden, “confess now that your bete noir is really a very manly as
well as a very presentable young fellow. By Jove! the padres have made a
Spanish swell out of him without spoiling the Brant grit, either!
Come, now; you're not afraid that Susy's style will suffer from HIS
companionship. 'Pon my soul, she might borrow a little of his courtesy
to his elders without indelicacy. I only wish she had as sincere a way
of showing her respect for you as he has. Did you notice that he really
didn't seem to see anybody else but you at first? And yet you never were
a friend to him, like Susy.”
The lady tossed her head slightly, but smiled.
“This is the first time he's seen Mary Rogers, isn't it?” she said
meditatively.
“I reckon. But what's that to do with his politeness to you?”
“And do her parents know him?” she continued, without replying.
“How do I know? I suppose everybody has heard of him. Why?”
“Because I think they've taken a fancy to each other.”
“What in the name of folly, Ally”--began the despairing Peyton.
“When you invite a handsome, rich, and fascinating young man into the
company of young ladies, John,” returned Mrs. Peyton, in her severest
manner, “you must not forget you owe a certain responsibility to the
parents. I shall certainly look after Miss Rogers.”